niagara falls.

niagara falls. Collection II - ‘antithesis. Track 12. - ‘niagara falls' Prod By Blū Tha Guru [Previously on L E G E N D S: Enter The Multiverse} Baby's all right Brooklyn Pretty little palace of disaster Pretty little patterns of — Whatever Tantrums, smashing Jack o lanterns Shadows, Hands that attach to the strings Allowing them to dance into dreams It seems these sacred places Have been ravaged And I have not been running But I don't have any money Wise than that It's less than zero Negatives I want to kill myself again Honestly, I see a way out it just Requires being tortured By people coughing. And motorcycles I might have seen my son for the last time At age five It's finally warm outside And everything's just Reminding me I'm struggling with poverty Nothing really matters cause I don't belong here Everything is wrong I just want blonde hair, Hurry up, God Assist me with a suicide I can take pride in Not an attempt, but The only success I'll ever have At anything At all -El Al Nothing moves the same After an unrequited love becomes a tragedy Or just a movie scene I want to scream for needing to be needed Then again Could die just to be dead Could go back To just be blacklisted Or a crackhead Doing magic tricks Pass I couldn't have ever imagined This fascination as of late Or making trance But anything can happen With the light switches on and off As the kite catches headwinds Or hedwig is getting bigger by the minute That just grows out of his head, But I wish it was a wig Like Kristen Pass Yes. Breathe deep into my lungs, These scenes of things So evil seeming, even to me Lucidity becomes as dreamily Eerie, intermittently meaningless, And then suddenly, However much later, Maddeningly attractive, As I am, in fact Attached to this project As menacingly handsome and devilish as he is I've decided, it's manageable, but clashes with my Moral standards and clasps with fabrications Lay hands on me and see what happens! —-okay… “Okay” Pass! I asked to be a rockstar and showrunner On the same blood soaked candles I took blood oaths Dancing in front of the fountain At rockafeller plaza, to no applause, Of course, Drinking monsters nonstop, Ontop of my skateboard I came back late to Boston And took a plane to Vegas early the next morning But somewhere deep in my Google Drive or documents Is me under a neon sign, Which reads a name I resigned from saying Until maybe I get signed I hate him, but hey, The name of the game is Mating Season, And lately I've been craving eggs and Mayonnaise instead of protein shakes and Crayons Wax on, wax off… Pass, but that last sentence didn't make sense It did.:: Oh, Yes, it did. Promise. You do some stupid shit. Okay, so I do stupid shit. Believe me, you do some stupid shit. Okay, I believe you. Don't believe me when I tell you things like that. What the fuck, Patrick, do you mean, even? I mean what I mean, but usually just— For me. I am you, I thought. Exactly: don't believe me. Okay? I don't believe you… Just—believe me. Believe me. Oh dang. So there really is no “Jimmy Fallon” No, there isn't it's just— Poor little Jimmy Fallon… What if— There is no “if”. Nobody has to ‘agree' to this project Sign the terms of agreement For what. You'll see.. stupid little bitch. *squints* What did you just say. (Walking away, mumbling) Nothing! Fucking idiot. What did you just say?! (Yelling) I said you're a fucking idiot, Fallon! You're a fucking lDi0T: Well, okay. lol NBC is not gonna let this fly at all. No, Jimmy, you cannot do this project. Well, that's alright. I quit. You can't quit. You have a contract. I don't—I'm out of my contract: On what grounds?! Conflict of interest! That's my say, isn't it? Is it? MORGUE. I bought a network! MY NAME IS— MAaaa!! WHATTTTTTT. The show's on! [A Cold Open] L E G E N D S {Enter The Multiverse} Fuck this kid. I'm gonna kill him. Kill what. Who. FALLON. GET IN HERE. Ah. [explitive] [‘THE FALLON' gets ‘FALLONED' by ELLEN DEGENERES] ELLEN YES. FINALLY, I'm in this bitch. [And other members of ‘THE HOSTS COLLECTIVE', a high ranking team in the ILLUMINATI FOREFRONT] Well, not in the way I'm sure you'd hoped, but. Shutthefuckup! Oh wait—is she Is it “she” Is she a lesbian?! What's the “Illuminati”— We'll get back to that later. No! gross! Portia Derossi! Huh? I want to be that pretty! Well, okie. MEANWHILE, In my actual own age group… I'm older than all these hosts, anyway! Even Leno? Isn't he dead already?! Exactly! EVEN STEVENS [BEANS is now VEGAN] Why is vegan capitalized. Cause it's important. Hey buddy! Don't call me buddy. I'm edging on 40. Time flies when you're— Rapidly aging? I brought you some bacon. You what: It's farm fresh! Kooldjredalert Lie to me Try to sleep (In my arms, won't you) Try to keep the Time with My heart Beat (Heavenly) I've been living in your world for just over a month, now. I'm sorry, Fallon. That must be awful. Not too sorry— Some of this stuff is good. Just, priceless. Wouldn't trade it for the world. But I've hung my head in shame, Cause I hung myself with gratitude, Haven't you had enough? If it makes any difference at all, And I'm betting it does All I wished for a wanted and prayed Was for you to be happy I buy burners with trackers Put burn holes in sweaters The summit at the plummet, pulling forwards And backwards I've four words for parlors, For barbers and hatchets I bury the four suns, The moon arose after I left an Oscar on your alter this morning Never shall ye rest, Haven't ever then, Paid the tythe, And for the while, Immortal wife and lover, Mother daughter, Soon to call your name and number, However, The fall from the drop of polish, Of course, oil marks upon canvases Sickness and swells of my Hands upon your corset Could you collide with another? Doubtful, to that, So shall it must be List, but never to utter A mustard seed; Ground, then unground— As if planted, Simple, As the seed of laughter So then, would you By the turn of the hour, return to the one had you called Lover, A curse upon the Coerced and responsible A blonde, But worse, A pretty one For never after happens out of nowhere Now, Dissociate, Before I dissipate of Loneliness Hark, The door opens for one, A bold soldier to come, Listen lover, The stone has been Suspended, by the mirror In terror Alarmed, Cool you are now Calm, however Not abound to be lie Or below Bound by blood There you are In excelsior, Predecessor What would you want that for— The camera obscured; Why, If only, To look upon you Plastered and enlarged As you are Endangered in my imagination A dangerous and strange, Dangling addiction Fascination, now With power, And prowess Come now, The midnight hour is upon us [his body hung from the rafters above the studio, just one lamp left aglow—and then suddenly I had awakened, his body still and resting, sleeping quietly—although the hanged man burned into my mind; I left him quietly as I could in the loft and sat with nothing in my mind at all at the canvas, brush in hand, as if I were to draw something—but could not. It was almost as if I was frozen, or even perhaps the canvas were instead a mirror, and I the painting —though I could not know. My dearest Patrick was a broken man, and I his broken lover—the both of us an atrocity at all in shambles—I wept inwardly but not outward, as not to wake him as my tears often did, even from a deep sleep. The sun was far from rising, and though I had barely slept at all, I felt I would never sleep again—I fell at my tilted alter as the sun rose, in prayer and devastation; What had I done?] —Esha's Memoirs, the journals from The Altar You know what, kid— You've got something. I don't know what it is, But it's something. Kid? Aren't we like, the same age? No. I'll tell you what I've got I've got a seven year old kid I haven't seen in two years; I've got a sink full of dishes I've got credit card debt and school loans I've got racist neighbors, An ex husband who swears he never hit me With a brand new baby I've got Extreme back pain I've got a body only God could ever love And I've got something like 10,000 pages or more Of stuff I barely remember writing Just sitting in the Google algorithm Pushing me closer and closer to suicide Every single day I've got Sexual fantasies about celebrities for no given reason at all. I've got 800 songs that are just words I've got books I want to read just— sitting there And I've got this pain That just sits inside my soul That never goes away, ever I've got something, alright. I've got something, sure But when it comes to money I got a dollar One fucking dollar And you know what I call that? -Useless. She's dead, isn't she? You guessed it. Well, what am I supposed to do? What you always do. What is that? What is that? Swear of the palm d ore I Cannes, Atop the Eiffel You are the river that crosses my eye, The scar across my heart, The Eye, is All we are And all is one; One is all, And All are One Well, I'm quite nervous. Don't be nervous, at all, Johnny. Relax. Another John—my first, in fact. Indeed, I was once relentlessly obsessed With Johnny Depp Infatuated, if you will Whatever you want to call it. Of course, For a teenaged girl, however This sort of obsession was somewhat normal Somewhat. I had always wanted to star in movies— So much so that I began to write them. I was about 7, maybe 8 when the stories in my headed started to form as narratives— Not just stories, but words Characters and conversations— Plots. I should leave this poor Fallon boy alone. Some darkness inside of me wants him; That thing that doesn't quiet, nor does it want, Anything but what it wants— And it is, Darkness-m— That thing that lives inside of me and what is does; The thing it calls love, and calls our for The something in someone that rises it up From wherever it dwells, Deep in my soul, and into my hear, Into my thoughts, It haunts all that I must and mustn't Ponder upon A woman's cause, And a murderer of sorts, The ugly swan , who dances on ponds, Laying one one, but all of precious stones, The egg, The coveted stones of trust, And wander, Listing upon that which it feeds, Not only the bod, But its motor, It's mind, A hearty philosopher, And willful warrior, Of wit, And of talent, The strength of Astonishment A power above all, A blindness of fate; Judged by all The spectacular amongst us The famed and the damned, Acquitted of warmth and dutiful, Exquisite in awe A rarity. —The Fame Files. V.O. Coming to terms with one's death is always peaceful. All harm caused will be returned by he/she who causes it or acts in such a way as to inflict pain and hostility towards peaceful persons. Causing with intention psychological, physical, mental, or physical harm will result in the immediate karmic retaliation of such pain as inflicted on peaceful individuals; these acts of war will inhibit the actor from entering the transcendence, or developing expanded consciousness, gaining wealth, further material possessions–his own will is therefore weakened, and therefore unworthy of love himself, by the intent to cause one such pain as an act of violence or ill will. One's disruption of peace is thereby an act of cruelty, punishable beyond death–causing pain by intention to another individual in the attempt of control or manipulation, intrusion, and abuse is therefore against the laws by which the ascended abide by, and therefore cannot and will not exist beyond the ill fate of its perpetrator. Please leave me alone; I'm asking you nicely. Alright, fine. Where is it! Where is what? You know what. What? From the fountain. It wasn't me! I don't have it. And this, is why Jimmy Fallon is impenetrable. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū.